Then she put the kettle on to make tea. The mundane activities helped subdue her loneliness and grief.The ballerina danced across the television scree.... The Nutcracker was one of her favourite ballets. Kim was huddled on the day bed dressed in her terry bathrobe, a simple flannel nightgown, and slippers. Her grandmother's Afghan throw rug covered her feet and legs. The dinner dishes were stacked on the side table. Kim revelled in the liberating radiance created by her second glass of Drambuie. This is a city overrun by gangsters, crooked cops and the assorted criminals and lowlifes that prey on those honest people who are simply struggling and striving to make an honest living."Strip," I said. "What?" she replied angrily. "You think I'm carrying or I'm wired? You don't fuckin' trust me?" "I don't fuckin' trust anybody," I replied, motioning with my forty-five. "That's why I'm still alive. It pays not to trust anybody in this line of business. Especially the broads." "Fuck you,. More

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